


Sycamore Down

by rory_the_faery



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, M/M, Rape, Sexual Assault, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3809470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_the_faery/pseuds/rory_the_faery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something shifts and Sherlock doesn’t quite remember the time passing in between, but suddenly, he’s lying on the bed with Victor.  He might be rubbing Sherlock’s thigh.  Sherlock can’t be bothered to notice.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Sherlock thinks Victor loves him, but unfortunately that just isn't the case.  Drug usage, and underage rape.  Based on personal experiences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sycamore Down

This isn’t new to Sherlock. He’s used drugs before.

Though, he hasn’t used this particular kind of drug before. Some kind of pills. He can’t quite remember the name. Oxycodone, he thinks. A 30mg pill. He tries to recall what the usual dosage for oxycodone is. 15mg for those without opioid exposure, though 30mg isn’t unheard of.

Of course, crushing the pills up and snorting them isn’t the usual mode of ingestion. Faster peak, more intense high, come down faster. Oral consumption causes a slower ride to a less intense high.

Sherlock feels slightly dizzy when he’s finally snorted the whole thing, but Victor seems pleased with him, so Sherlock smiles.

Victor is older. Sherlock is fifteen, Victor is almost twenty. Sherlock’s not interested in him...not in that way.

Well, maybe a little.

Sherlock is high. High enough. Enough for him, anyway. Victor uses a lot more drugs than he does. Sherlock supposes he has a higher tolerance.

“I have some pot my friend gave me,” says Victor. “Why don’t I roll us up a spliff?”

Sherlock is hesitant, but doesn’t say no. He can do more. He’s really fine. He can handle it.

They smoke the whole thing between the two of them (and it’s a lot). Sherlock has only smoked marijuana out of a bowl, never a blunt, like this. But he smokes cigarettes, and that’s almost the same thing, isn’t it? The paper is strawberry-flavoured and it leaves a sweet taste on his lips.

Something shifts and Sherlock doesn’t quite remember the time passing in between, but suddenly, he’s lying on the bed with Victor. He might be rubbing Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock can’t be bothered to notice.

“Hey, there’s a bit left,” Victor says, reaching over to put a little more in the his bowl that’s sitting on his dresser. “Why don’t you finish it off?”

He hands Sherlock the bowl, and Sherlock takes it from him. He can barely hold it properly and Victor has to help him raise it to his lips. By the time he’s finished it off, he’s coughing, and he slumps back onto the pillow. Or maybe it’s Victor’s shoulder. No, it must be the pillow because Victor stands up to put the bowl back on his desk.

And then Victor is kissing Sherlock. He feels it, feels the older boy’s lips against his, but he doesn’t quite register it. Something isn’t processing right in his head. He thinks he’s laughing, and maybe Victor thinks that means yes. Yes to what?

How could Sherlock not laugh? He’s more high than he’s ever been in his life. Something is hilarious, but he’s not sure what. He doesn’t really understand what’s happening, isn’t quite aware of his surroundings until suddenly he realises his clothes are gone and something is pushing inside of him. It pushes in and out, in and out, and then it stops, and something else pushes into him. It might’ve hurt, if Sherlock weren’t heavily dosed with painkillers and marijuana.

He looks up and Victor is on top of him, and he’s smiling. He asks Sherlock if it feels good.

What the hell is Sherlock supposed to say to that?

He’s not even sure if this is really happening. It’s hard to tell, because it’s a bit more concrete than a dream, but it still feels hazy, and he can barely remember what happened five seconds ago. Is Victor wearing a condom? This isn’t happening. Of course he’s wearing a condom. He’s nineteen, he’s supposed to be responsible.

This must be a dream. Sherlock wouldn’t do this. Did he even come here? No, he doesn’t think so. Why would he come over here? His brother is visiting from Uni. He’s back home with his parents and Mycroft having tea and ignoring whatever crap telly is on in the background.

It hardly seems like it’s been a few moments before Sherlock notices Victor has stopped and gotten up to get himself dressed again. Sherlock tries to sit up, but can’t quite make it all the way, and falls back onto the bed. Victor chuckles softly, and takes Sherlock’s hand to help him up. He’s so sweet, Sherlock thinks to himself, all the while, feeling sort of dizzy and nauseous. Victor has to help him get dressed, because Sherlock isn’t quite able to do it himself, and when he does, Victor pecks a kiss onto his forehead and calls him his “beautiful boy”.

Sherlock blinks and they’re in Victor’s car; Victor is helping Sherlock with his seatbelt, as the younger is still too inebriated to figure it out himself. He blinks again and the car pulls up in front of his house. Victor gives him another kiss and sends him on his way, leaving him at the end of the driveway, to find his way back to his house.

When he gets inside, Sherlock slips in past his mother and father, and Mycroft, who are in the living room, and stumbles upstairs to his room, where he flops on the bed and almost instantly falls asleep. 

Just a dream. Nothing more.


End file.
